Christmas Spirit
by Astralis
Summary: It may be Christmas, but it doesn't always feel like it. Will be NS.
1. Default Chapter

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine, as always.

* * *

A few paltry decorations strewn through the lab did not inspire much of a Christmas atmosphere. The place was half-deserted, running on a skeleton staff, none of whom were in much of a Christmas mood anyway. The only people who'd actually _chosen_ to work Christmas Eve had chosen by default, because they had nothing else to do.

It came as something as a relief to Sara when a case was called in just after 8pm. It wasn't a total relief because homicides always seemed exponentially awful in the holiday season, but it meant an escape from the forced cheerfulness of the lab and something to occupy her mind. Grissom had emerged from his office long enough to send her off with Nick Stokes, the sole member of the swing shift working that night, and then retreated again. Grissom wasn't a big Christmas person, and as supervisor he could avoid it the way the rest of them couldn't.

Brass was waiting for them at the address on the south side of town. Lying face down in the middle of the kitchen floor lay a youngish woman, her long blonde hair stained a dull red from the blood of the large wound on the back of her head. "Running away?" Nick asked, gesturing to the nearby door.

"I'd guess so." Sara stared down at the body, sickened. It wasn't going to be a very merry Christmas for someone, somewhere. She almost wished she wasn't working.

"Do we know who she is?"

"Rachel Harrison. Twenty nine years old. Neighbour called it in - she was supposed to take Rachel's kids to a carol concert but when no one opened the door she looked in the windows. No sign of Rachel's partner or kids - PD are out looking for his car."

"History of domestic violence?" Sara asked, that same old familiar feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. It never changed, never got any easier or any better. She knew this kind of thing happened at Christmas - in fact, _more_ often at Christmas - but that thought didn't really help.

Brass shrugged. "No record of it, and the neighbour says she's never suspected any."

"How old are the children?" Nick asked, kneeling down beside the victim to study her head wound. Sara joined him. The linoleum was faded, but scrupulously clean.

"Eight and six."

"Is the partner the father?"

"We don't know yet."

Nick pushed some of Rachel's hair out of the way to show more of the wound. It was a typical head wound, caused by some kind of blunt object. Rachel had no doubt died almost instantly."Some Christmas," Nick muttered, beginning to photograph the scene. Sara looked up and caught his eye for a second. _Some Christmas_ was right.

When David Phillips arrived to escort Rachel's blood-covered body back to the lab Nick and Sara set out to search the house for clues as to what, exactly, had happened to leave Rachel Harrison dead in her kitchen. The living room showed no signs of a struggle. Myriad brightly coloured Christmas cards decorated a bookcase, and a Christmas tree stood in the corner. The whole place was very thread-bare and half empty, but a couple of presents sat under the tree with its mostly homemade decorations. "Nothing out of the ordinary," Nick commented.

Sara sighed. "Nope. Money problems, maybe, but that's not unusual."

It was a tiny house. The bedroom Rachel shared with her partner showed no signs of a struggle, and no signs of her partner having packed anything. Ditto the bathroom. Aside from the fact that Rachel and her partner were clearly short of money, there was nothing, yet, to explain her death. There was nothing, even, that seemed it could have caused the victim's head wound.

Sara pushed open the last door. The curtains were drawn, but enough light flooded in from the hallway to show a bunk bed, a table, a chest of drawers and a few toys in a neat pile in the corner. "Kids' room," Nick remarked.

"Yeah." Sara stepped in and began to open the drawers. There wasn't much in them, but that was consistent with the rest of the house. Nick followed her in. "Pretty small room for two young kids."

"Mmmmm." Sara slammed the last drawer shut. "Can't see anything out of place. So. Now what?"

"We hope the autopsy gives us something?" Nick turned to leave, and stopped.

"What?"

"The whole house is tidy, right? Really neat, really clean."

"Yeah."

"So why's that bottom bunk so lumpy?" Nick stepped forward and pulled down the duvet, and swore.

Sara, seeing what he saw, winced. "Guess we found the kids."

Lying on the blood-stained white sheet were the bloodied and beaten bodies of two children. They might almost have been sleeping. "Merry Christmas, kids," Sara whispered. Whatever had happened in this house, they were going to find out. Christmas or no Christmas.

* * *

After David Phillips had been recalled to collect the bodies of the children - Jessica, aged eight, and her six year old brother Daniel, according to Brass's information - Nick and Sara followed him back to the lab armed with the sheets from the bunk and a few other items from the house. "What do you think?" Nick asked as he drove.

"Aside from that this is the worst thing to happen at Christmas? My money's on the partner, for whatever motive." Her mind was running over all the various scenarios. No outward evidence of domestic violence didn't mean there was none. She'd make sure the coroner checked for signs of prior physical and sexual abuse on all three bodies, and they'd have to talk to the neighbours... when? Tomorrow - or was it today, now? She'd lost track - was Christmas Day. Could they just go round the neighbourhood, knocking on doors, disrupting and disturbing people's Christmasses? She'd do it if she had to, because, damn it, there wasn't going to _be_ another Christmas for Rachel or Jessica and Daniel, and if those neighbours had been ignoring abuse -

"At the moment, I'd agree with you," Nick said, breaking into her thoughts. It was probably a good thing. She didn't need to be getting carried away and over-emotional, but she couldn't always stop herself. "Until we find the partner, at least. See what he has to say. For all we know he's dead too."

"True," Sara conceded. "After we've seen the coroner I'll run their financial records, bank account details, see what that leads to."

"Yeah." Nick rubbed his forehead for a second, then glanced at the Denali's clock. "Oh, Merry Christmas, Sara."

Sara frowned and looked at the glowing green letters. 12.24. "You too."

Nick shook his head. "Man, this really does _not_ feel like Christmas."

* * *

Doc Robbins had been called in to help deal with the extra bodies. He was waiting for them in the morgue with David; Rachel, Jessica and Daniel were lined up on cold metal slabs. "Evening," he said dryly as they entered.

"Sorry about your Christmas, Doc," Nick said, taking his place beside the coroner.

"Theirs is worse," Doc Robbins shrugged. "Now. Rachel. David here had a look at her, and at this stage we're both agreed it was the blow to the head which killed her. No signs of any prior abuse, physical _or_ sexual. As for the kids, they both died from the beatings. Head trauma, massive internal wounds. "

"Any idea of time of death?"

"All at around the same time. Maybe five, six hours ago. We'll know more later."

Sara sighed. "Okay. Thanks Doc. And have a good Christmas, if you can."

"You too."

"So," said Nick, as the morgue doors swung shut behind them, "You want to run those financial records?"

"It'll be the highlight of my evening."

"I'll go over the sheets then. See if I can find any trace evidence to compare to the DNA from the partner's toothbrush, then the kids' clothes. Not that any evidence of that sort is likely to stand up in court, not when they all lived in the same house."

"Let me know what you find out."

"Will do."

* * *

PD's discovery came while Sara was still staring at endless lists of figures, searching for something more than an illustration of the family's financial problems. Nick was still poring over the sheets from the bunk bed, putting individual hairs into bags to be analysed by whichever unfortunate had drawn the short straw in the DNA lab.

Both jumped when their pagers went off. Brass wanted them down at PD, ASAP. The message was brief, but clear: he had something hugely important to the case.

It turned out to be Rachel's partner, Kyle McKinley. He was sitting in one of the interview rooms, and was clearly drunk and distraught. A uniformed cop stood unmoving and solemn in the corner.

"PD found him pulled over and passed out on the I-15. You're going to want to hear what he has to say."

"Which is?" Nick asked.

"Oh, he'll tell you, believe me. He's telling everyone."

The three of them made their way into the interview room. "Mr McKinley, this is Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle from criminalistics. They're investigating the case."

"Don't need to," he said, his speech slurred. "I killed them. I killed them. I didn't want to... just happened."

Nick and Sara exchanged glances. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "_What_ happened?" asked Nick, studying McKinley's face carefully.

"It was Jessie, driving me crazy. She wouldn't shut up. She wanted a bike for Christmas, and a computer and a Playstation, just like all the other kids have. And I told her, I said, Jessie, we can't afford it, I wish we could but we just can't... and she kept saying it wasn't fair, and then Danny got started saying the other kids teased him and he wished we were rich and... they just kept going, on and on, and I've worked so damn hard just to pay the bloody bills and keep them fed and Jessie just wouldn't shut up and then I lost it, I hit her, and she screamed but I was so mad I couldn't stop, and Danny was screaming and I just wanted them to be quiet... and then they were and it was so quiet, and... and Christy came home and she saw the kids and she... I was putting them in bed, I just wanted them to be sleeping, and Christy... I just couldn't help it, I was so scared, I knew she'd run for the neighbours so I just grabbed Jessie's baseball bat and hit her before she could get out the door, and then I realised what I'd done..." McKinley broke into sobs and dropped his head onto the table. "I was so _tired_..." he said through his sobs. "Just wanted it all to stop..."

Sara and Nick exchanged uneasy glances. "Some Christmas," Nick muttered again as Brass stepped forward and charged Kyle McKinley with the three deaths.

Outside the interview room, things in PD and the lab were going on normally, albeit with less people and the addition of the Christmas decorations. It was both a refreshing change and a stark contrast to McKinley's anguished voice.

"At least they're not piping carols over the PA," Nick said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Just thinking." They passed Grissom's office door and automatically looked through the glass. He was in there, working or otherwise, with his head down. He didn't see them and they didn't stop as they walked on the break room. It was the most garishly decorated room in the lab, and whoever did it seemed to have been incredibly tasteless. It had probably been the group of night shift lab techs that centred around Archie Johnson and Jacqui Franco; it seemed like their sort of thing.

"Easy solution," Sara said, "but not what I wanted, somehow." She investigated the coffee pot, tipped its contents into the sink, and put some more on to brew.

"You liked the partner from the start," Nick pointed out.

"Not like this."

"I don't get it."

Sara pulled out one of the chairs at the table and dropped into it as Nick sat down opposite her. "I wanted him to be... oh, I don't know. Not someone who just snapped from stress. Someone I could hate."

Nick looked at her carefully, rather like the way he'd looked at McKinley in the interview room. "Why?" he asked, clearly trying to be as tactful as possible.

Sara drummed her fingers on the table. "Coffee?" she asked.

If Nick wanted to say something, he didn't, and instead accepted her offer. "What a Christmas."

"You've said."

"Just sucks, you know?"

"You mean having to work, or..."

"I meant the case. I don't mind working."

Sara considered him as she sipped her coffee. It wasn't the greatest. "Why don't you go home for Christmas?"

"Someone's got to work," Nick shrugged, sipping his own coffee and clearly avoiding her eyes.

"Why you?"

"What's with the questions?" Nick said quickly, and sighed. "Sorry. It's all just getting to me... it doesn't feel like Christmas, you know?"

"Who knows what Christmas is even supposed to feel like?" Sara rubbed her forehead. "We make a cheerful pair."

Nick was giving her that careful look again. "What are you doing after shift?" he asked slowly.

"Nothing. Why?" She managed not to add an "of course" after the nothing.

"Because it's Christmas and we might as well be miserable together." Nick paused. "Seriously, Sara. I..." He looked up at her, and she saw the honesty in his eyes. "Because I don't want to be alone on Christmas Day for a change. Especially not after tonight."

Sara met his eyes, understanding. "All right."

* * *

**TBC...**


	2. Part Two

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine.

* * *

Nick had moved after the Nigel Crane fiasco, and she really couldn't blame him. He was living in a small apartment in Summerlin, as neat and clean as his old house. It wasn't what she'd have expected of Nick, but then again he was full of surprises.

He'd made more concessions to the Christmas season than she had, not that it was hard to top _zero_. He had a small, fake, but nicely decorated Christmas tree on the table in the corner, and a row of Christmas cards on the windowsill behind it.

"I'd offer you coffee," he said, "but it's Christmas morning." Nick fished a bottle of wine out of a cupboard. "I don't usually drink wine, but it's Christmas."

Sara spoke before her courage failed her. "I can't." Weighing it up quickly in her mind, she decided telling the truth was better than breaking her resolutions and promises about alcohol. That was likely to lead to far too many more drinks, and far too much guilt.

"Why not?" Nick asked, obviously surprised and curious.

"I can't. I'm, um..." She bit her lip and stared at the floor. What the hell was she doing here? "I... you know. Twelve step programme."

"_Oh_. Oh, hell, Sara, I had no idea. How long?" Nick sounded genuinely concerned and she had no doubt that he was. That was Nick. It was what he did. She wasn't much of a people person, but even she could tell that much.

"How long have I been... uh... or you mean how long since my last drink?" Sara was fighting to sound detached. Christmas or no Christmas, she should have refused his offer.

"I... both, I guess."

"Four months, two weeks and six days. And I don't know how long, I... can't tell when it started, really." She kept her eyes on the floor and listened as Nick put the wine away. "Can you just... forget? Please?"

"Yeah. Sure. Uh. Coffee, Sara?"

"Thanks."

They didn't talk about much for a while. Just sat there, drinking their coffee, and then devouring a packet of chocolate cookies, as families across the city opened presents; Rachel Harrison and her children lay in the morgue, waiting to be claimed by Rachel's family; and Kyle McKinley sat in a cell and contemplated the rest of his life.

Nick yawned.

"I should go," Sara said, and was surprised at how reluctant she felt. She didn't usually spend this long with people without a concrete reason.

"Don't," said Nick, so quietly it took her a second to be sure she'd even heard him.

She didn't argue. She didn't have the strength, somehow. She'd spent too many long Christmas days alone, and even for someone who professed to believe that the modern Christmas was a construct of big business, it got lonely. Nick was more comfortable to be with than most people were.

"So this is Christmas, huh?" he said, after a few minutes of silence.

"Whatever Christmas is."

"You're pretty cynical," he said softly.

"That's me. Cynical. I've seen too much. You know, Christmas, it's Christmas that drove Kyle McKinley to kill Rachel and those kids. Domestic violence skyrockets at this time of year and... I just... yeah. I'm not a Christmas person, you know, and this sort of things makes me wonder why anybody is."

"What about when you were a kid?"

"Can't have much of a Christmas when your parents are too busy fussing over the guests."

"Guests?"

"I grew up in a bed and breakfast. Mostly."

"Why mostly?"

"Long story." Sara propped her feet up on the coffee table. "What about you?"

"When I was a kid? Christmas was great. All our relatives used to come over... my sisters and brothers and I would get kicked out of our rooms so our aunts and uncles and grandparents could sleep in them, and we'd all sleep in the living room and the dining room. I slept in the kitchen with a couple of cousins one year, and my oldest sisters slept in the bathroom because they wanted some privacy. They got woken up every time someone wanted to use the bathroom in the night."

Sara was struck by a pang of intense loneliness and regret. She wasn't good at living with lots of people and it would have driven her stir-crazy - she'd probably have retreated to a closet- but maybe that was what Christmas was about. She was also struck by the tone of Nick's voice, something more than nostalgia. "Why didn't you go home this year?"

"I haven't gone home for Christmas since I came to Vegas."

Sara stared at him, shocked. "But I thought - "

"Yeah. I know. I've given up the happy families pretence, but everyone still accepts it without thinking."

"I had no idea."

"We've all got our secrets. And I thought you were meant to be cynical."

"Maybe I wanted to believe it," she mused. "The happy families thing. _Someone_ should have one." This was getting into dangerous territory. She was opening up a little, thinking and saying things she'd rather not, but she couldn't bring herself to leave.

"Maybe."

"So, what happened?"

"What happened?" Nick put his feet beside hers on the coffee table. "I don't fit in. I'm not what they wanted me to be. They don't mean to rub my face in it, but that's how I feel. So I stay away."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Can't help it."

Their eyes met, and despite it all both managed a smile. "I'm glad you're here, you know," Nick said.

"Yeah, me too. I... get a bit lonely sometimes."

"Me too. You... don't have to _pretend_, you know, Sara?"

"Who's pretending?" she quipped.

"I can tell, you know."

"I can't do anything else, I guess."

"Why?"

She looked at him, looked into his eyes and saw someone who cared for her more than she could fathom. The voice in the back of her head said that Nick cared about _everyone_, that was just how he was, but for once she didn't want to believe the voice. She started talking, trusting him. She told him most of what she'd told her counselor, and more. She talked about Grissom, about alcohol, about work, about how the best Christmas she'd ever had had been in a Social Services group home when she was 16. None of it answered his question about why she had to pretend, but maybe it answered a lot of questions he'd never felt safe enough to ask. "I'm sorry," she said when she'd run out of things to say, and meant it. It was Christmas. Nick didn't need her life story, not today of all days.

Even so, she couldn't manage to be surprised when he said, "Come here," and pulled her into the first hug she'd had in a long time. Sara had always poured silent scorn on those women who needed a man to feel happy and secure, but, damn it, she couldn't blame them right now. She _did_ feel safe and secure like this, and that bothered her. Not enough to make her break out of his embrace, but enough to make her think. "Some Christmas, huh?" she said, to push the unwelcome thoughts away, and in an attempt not to realise that she'd leaned her head against his shoulder, and could feel the warmth of his neck through her hair.

"I guess."

Suddenly tired, Sara yawned. How long had she been awake now? Coffee or no coffee, it was far too long, even for her. Maybe it was time to go home, before something - she didn't know what, but something - happened.

Just as that thought flickered across her mind, she felt Nick kiss the top of her head. Startled, she looked up at him. He looked completely mortified. "I - I'm sorry - hell - I didn't plan that, Sara."

Had he been anyone else she would have just stood up and left. All the things which made it so hard for her to trust men would have come to the fore and she'd have been out of there before she started thinking straight. Instead, she surprised them both by dropping her head back onto his shoulder. "It's okay." It was more than okay, it was nice. Comforting. Reassuring.

"I... don't know what happened." Nick sounded more than a little confused. "You just looked so... I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Really."

She felt Nick rub one of her arms, then put his head close to hers. "I don't know what's happening, Sara, I have to tell you that." His voice was a whisper.

All the reasons as to why whatever was happening shouldn't have been happening were starting to assail her. They were co-workers. She'd been hung up over another man for more years than she cared to remember. Neither of them had a good track record with, well, things like this. Things that happened when the grey area that delineated friendship from something more got crossed. She had issues. He had issues. And whatever _was_ happening, it seemed to be out of either of their control.

Sara promptly started panicking. She must have stiffened, because Nick said suddenly, sharply, "Sara? You okay?"

"I don't know what's happening either, and it's... kind of scary. I like to be in control of things, and... do you want me to go?"

Nick shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Do you? Because, you know, you can go if you want..."

"I don't think I want to. Just scared." She didn't want to be honest, but somehow it was hard not to.

"What of?"

"Myself. You - but not in a bad way," she added hastily. "Just this... thing."

"I shouldn't have kissed you," Nick muttered.

"It's not just that."

Nick sighed. Sara felt his chest rise and fall against her side. "Even with all this, I'm glad you're here today."

Sara considered it all. "So am I."

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
